


He Ain't Heavy, He's My Angel

by sconesandtextingandmurder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, based on a tumblr headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2260332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder/pseuds/sconesandtextingandmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written because I can’t get this particular headcanon out of my mind: </p><p>no but think about cas and dean getting in a huge fight and of course dean’s the one who has to sleep on the couch that night but he’s startled awake at 3 a.m. by weight pushing down on him and he tries to sit up to see what’s going on but then he realizes that cas is literally lying on top of him dead asleep and they still try to act mad at each other in the morning even though they literally couldn’t be away from each other for more than five seconds (<a href="http://deancasheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/89123738611/no-but-think-about-cas-and-dean-getting-in-a-huge">deancasheadcanons</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Ain't Heavy, He's My Angel

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean yells, not caring if Sam hears them.  Hell, this argument has been boiling over since dinner, which probably explains why his brother disappeared into one of the archive rooms not long after. 

Cas turns away from Dean.  “I’m done talking about this now,” he says in that cool, even tone that always takes Dean back to the days they first met. 

“Well, I’m not.  And you don’t get to choose when this is over.”  Dean calls after him.

Cas responds by slamming the bathroom door.

Dean paces around their room, formulating the next phase of his defense.  No matter how human Cas gets, that infuriating angelic stubbornness never seems to diminish.

“The part you can’t seem to get through your skull—“ Dean begins, but he stops short as Cas comes back into the room, changed for bed.    _He must really be pissed_ , he thinks with a small, icy feeling in his gut.  Since they’ve started sharing a bed, Dean can’t remember a time when Cas didn’t just pull off his own clothes to change right in the middle of whatever they happened to be discussing. 

Cas takes advantage of Dean’s hesitation.  “Stay here and argue with yourself all you’d like,” he says, picking up a pillow and turning towards the door.  “I’m going to sleep.”

Dean crosses the room in a few quick steps.  “Don’t be such a freaking martyr,” he grumbles, snatching the pillow out of Cas’s hands.  “I’ll go.”

Dean knows Cas spent all afternoon working in the garden.  And if the way he carefully got out of his chair after dinner is any indication, he’s managed to give himself a stiff lower back. A night on the crappy couch isn’t going to help that.

Cas glares at him for another moment, then opens the door wide to usher him out.  Dean turns on his heel to make his way down the hall, rolling his eyes when he hears the door slam shut behind him.

 

****

Castiel slaps his hand over the light switch, plunging the room into darkness.  Wearily, he throws back the covers and climbs into bed.  In all his time—angel and human—he’s never come across anyone who could aggravate him the way Dean Winchester does. 

 At least now, alone in their room, he has a bit of a respite from Dean’s endless arguing.  He takes a few deep breaths and attempts to clear his mind, but comfort eludes him. It’s not just the fight, he realizes; Dean grabbed  _his_ pillow out of his hands and took it down the hall.  Now he’s stuck with Dean’s soft, mushy one.  Cas scrunches it up (with a closed fist) and tries again to get comfortable.  The pillow is still too soft. 

And it smells like Dean. 

Cas sits up and throws the pillow across the room.

He lies back down.  After a few moments, with nothing to support his head, the ache in his lower back announces itself. 

The afternoon of working in the bright October sunshine had left him pleasantly tired. He’d looked forward to curling up with Dean, who would’ve offered to rub his sore muscles.

And if that led to more…

But now he feels himself rigid with anger, the peaceful feeling he’d gotten long replaced with galling adrenaline.  Dean will never, ever back down no matter how many ways he’s proven wrong. Cas wonders how his brother has put up with him for so many years. 

Sam Winchester is deserving of sainthood.

 

 ****

 Dean pulls off his jeans and throws them onto the floor next to the couch.  He flings the pillow down like he’s teaching it a lesson.  Then he throws himself onto the couch next to it. 

 A lot of the fight had gone out of him when he realized just how mad Cas was.  But he’s never been good at backing down once he’s got his teeth in.  Sam had learned to give him space over the years, retreating quietly until he calmed down.  From there, even if they didn’t exactly resolve things, at least they could drop it and move forward.  Sam knows that’s Dean’s version of an apology.

 Cas doesn’t back down the way Sam does.  And with the two of them sharing a room and a bed, there isn’t much space to give each other.  Which leaves him sleeping on the couch like every aggrieved husband in a stupid sitcom.

 How has this become his life?

 He turns on the TV and tries to get comfortable.  It’s a little chilly in this part of the bunker, but Dean refuses to get up and look for a blanket.  He hugs his arms to his sides and wallows in his cold misery. 

 Oh, and he’s stuck with the stupid brick Cas calls a pillow.  He can feel his neck start to cramp up.  Perfect.  Just fucking perfect.

 ****

Cas lies awake for a long time, Dean’s pillow still on the floor, like he’s proven something to it.  The peace and quiet he’d been craving echoes hollowly around the room and no matter how long he lies there, the bed never seems to warm up.

 He wonders if Dean found a blanket; it’s always chilly in that part of the bunker.  Knowing Dean, he’s probably lying there in the cold, stubbornly spiting himself.

 Cas checks the clock.  Two hours have passed since Dean stormed out.  Maybe Cas should at least go toss a blanket over him. 

 He untangles himself, the covers having twisted around him as he tossed and turned.  Grabbing the extra blanket from the foot of the bed, he quietly opens the door and starts down the hall.

 Cas stops, still in the hallway.  He can see the glow from the television in the otherwise darkened room, but he hears no sound from Dean.  He creeps closer until he can see into the room.  Dean is asleep on the couch, his arms crossed over his chest for warmth.

  _I knew it_ , thinks Cas, almost triumphantly.  He should just toss the blanket over the back of the couch and turn right around.

 But he should take his pillow back while he’s at it.

 Cas moves around to the front of the couch, wondering if he can slide the pillow out from under Dean’s head without waking him.  He stands and considers his options.  From here, in the flickering light of the screen, he can see Dean’s lashes curled onto his cheeks.  He watches Dean’s chest rise and fall with each breath. 

 No sense in them both being cold.

**** 

Dean’s running. 

He’s running, darting through trees, and jumping over fallen logs.  He doesn’t know how long he’s been running but it feels like forever.  The Purgatory night is falling and he can’t be caught out in the open, exposed.  Another day has passed, another day of fruitless searching for the angel, and he feels his chest burn as he gasps and struggles for breath.  He hears the sound of footsteps pursuing him and the crack of a branch somewhere just behind him as he tries to propel himself forward, but it’s so hard to breathe…

 Dean jerks awake. The room is eerie, with a flickering glow.  His heart is pounding, but he gathers enough from his surroundings to realize that he’s in the bunker.  He’s safe.

 A weight still presses down on his chest, but at least he’s warm. 

 Still mostly asleep, he drifts off again, as his heart slows.  He’s safe and he’s warm. 

 Something tickles his face and his eyes fly open.  He tries to raise his hands to brush it away, but he can’t seem to move them. 

 Finally, he wakes enough to realize the weight on his chest is Cas, dead asleep and snoring into Dean’s shoulder, his hair brushing Dean’s cheek.  He’s pretty sure Cas is drooling onto his neck. 

 Dean works his arms free and wraps them around his sleeping angel.  He kisses Cas on the top of the head and closes his eyes again.

 


End file.
